


Thousand Count

by kayurafii



Series: All Dressed up and Nowhere to Go [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Fantasizing, I hate myself, M/M, Masturbation, Spoiler Alert - Freeform, and never will be, but not confirmed, cause, not necessarily unrequited, only one person there, performing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:04:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayurafii/pseuds/kayurafii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While the Harry's away, the Eggsy will play.</p><p>After Harry tells him to wait, that when he gets back from this church recon he'll see about setting things to right, Eggsy spends his night exploring his mentor's home.  From his office to his kitchen to his bedroom, everything evokes memories of the older man's voice, manner, and everything.</p><p>Between a luxurious shower, full of smells, to a bed with sheets softer than Eggsy knew could exist, it simply becomes too much and his fantasies get away from him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thousand Count

**Author's Note:**

> For Dedkake who didn't laugh at me when I had the idea.  
> And to my husband who, while he will never read this, taught me everything I know about cock and balls.

Tomorrow had never felt so far away.  

So many concerns to occupy the mind, that it’s best, Eggsy thinks, to find other things to focus on.  After reading all of the headlines papering Harry’s office walls and spending a few horrified yet understanding minutes imagining Mr. Pickle’s eyes tracking him, he breaks into Harry’s computer.  It’s not terribly hard, having watching him unlock everything earlier, but diverting all the same.

Eggsy crosses his ankles on the top of Harry’s desk, contemplating all of the remaining ways he can spend these free hours.  Yes, he should go confront his step-arse.  And, yes, he should probably get out of here and drop off the map, try to find a way to get his family away from that bastard.

He thinks, suddenly, about Harry’s brief lessons on being a gentleman, and he plants his feet firmly on the ground.  Embarrassed, if Harry should ever find out.

But there are so many things to keep him busy here, certainly enough to keep him from dwelling on his breach of edicate.  So many spots to explore and exploit.  And besides, Harry specifically told him to stay, and if there’s any hope of thing being turned around, Eggsy was willing to do a whole lot more than just wait around.  

And, if he’s really honest with himself, Harry telling him to do so is enough incentive.  He hears the older man’s voice in his mind, a little deep and a little thick with his posh accent.  Eggsy sighs.  ‘I shoulda gone with ‘im.’ he thinks.  ‘Better than sittin’ here missing…’  He stops himself abruptly, again feeling embarrassed.  He’s stick in the man’s house, plenty of time for thoughts on that line L.A.T.E.R.

Instead there’s the mind-numbing prospect of waiting.  Just waiting around with a large assortment of expensive alcohols, that are probably older than he is.  Wait around with his sparkling crystal and shining china.  It’s funny, he thinks, pizza actually tastes better when eaten on bright white plates.  And the caviar wasn’t a terrible waste either.  He forgoes the silverware though.

A decanter sits on the sideboard, something beautiful and amber shining inside.  It smells like brandy, like Harry did when he let Eggsy into his home with a disapproving look.  He puts the decanter down, disliking the memory, and searches for something else to drink.

A bottle chills in the icebox, green glass with a foreign label.  There are two glasses on the counter nearby, probably since Harry expected him to at least meet expectations.  “Waste not.” he does his best Harry accent.  It falls short, be it makes his smile none the less.

Champagne in hand, he bounds up the stairs to investigate further into the life of his mentor.  Feeling suddenly guilty, halfway up the stairs, he does a quick about face to leave his shoes at the door.

The upstairs isn’t much different from the first floor; clean, pristine, and complete with dust ruffles and plush carpets that he kind of wants to just lay down on.  The pièce de résistance, however, was the largest, softest, most well made bed he’d ever seen.

“What the fuck…” his hands run over the pillowcases, the sheets softer than his last girlfriend's satin panties.  He didn’t know sheets could be so soft.  “Well, there’s no point mussing up his nice sheets,” Eggsy shrugs as he shucks out of his jeans and polo.

“Maybe a shower and then a wander through his closet,” he remarks and he peeks into the walk in full of tailored everything.

His bathroom gleams, and smells fresh, and so much like him.  Well, that’s an odd thought.  Okay, a less than odd thought.  But rare, none-the-less.  Well, not rare today, it seems.  And it’s not too far for his mind to jump from the smell of his shampoo and cologne to the warmth and weight of Harry’s hand squeezing his shoulder.

Only a few lingering moments on these thoughts cause a similar warmth to settle in his belly, only stirred further by the loofah scrubbing artisan soap into his skin.  And then, minus the loofah, rubbing a quick one out before he can think further about what he’s doing.

Before he can think further about how the smell of the soap on his arm, holding him up against the wall of the shower and pressed under his nose, vaults him over the edge.  How he can almost hear Harry whispering instruction to him.  And maybe a brief imagining of compassionate brown eyes watching him.

The plush towels don’t necessarily help him calm down.  How can one man smell of so many different things and have them all come together to smell so delicious?

A splash of aftershave, one pair of pajama pants, a little longer and thinner than he’d like, and a dressing gown, too big though the shoulders, later he finds a special kind of comfort in sheets as smooth and cool as silk.  He decides to buy a loofah as soon as he can when his skin slides across the bed, sandwiching him in a slowly warming cocoon.

‘Harry must use a lotion,’ Eggsy thinks, imagining the feel of his mentor’s hands compared to his own, beginning to dry out.  This thought begins a new rise in him, slower and fuller than before.  It’s as a quiet breath leaves him that he imagines a deep whisper in his ear, “How eager, Eggsy,” that causes a shudder to course down his spine.

It turns out he’s very right as he roots through the bedside drawers and finds all manner of interesting things, unscented lotion besides.  He considers the satin mask, but discards it, too anxious to use it alone.  So he rubs the lotion into his chapping hands, and knows there’s no turning back, overwhelmed with being surrounded by Harry.

He doesn’t ask himself, or let him think about why, there’s a bottle of lubricant right near the top of the drawer, as he grabs it out.  The soft pants slid easily off his hips and down to wrap around his ankles as he pulls his legs up to tent the heavy blankets weighing him down.  Though not unpleasant, it’s impractical.

He warms the lube in his palms and closes his eyes.  He hears Harry, can’t see him, as he grips himself loosely.  His first few strokes partner with his imagining of warm brown eyes pinning him to the bed as he performs.  His other hand joins in, following paths of a second persons intent.  Teasing and thrilling him and driving him slower than he normally would.

He’s breathing through his nose, not wishing to miss out on the sweet smell making his fantasy so much more real.  His off hand continues its meandering, fondling path driving him steadily closer to the edge with scraping nails and the thought of thinker, broader hands.  Hungry hands.  He bites his lip, stifling his pants while wetting his lips in preparation for a kiss that he knows isn’t there but he hopes for anyway.

The hand pumping him, still steady and getting steadily faster, steadily tighter, pauses now to run one smooth pull down and gather his tightening sack in his fingers.  He squeezes both together and groans, the sound wet and tight in his throat, before dragging his hand back up, fingernails scraping along before releasing his balls in favor or a better grip to his shaft.

A few more of these, occasionally with his other hand adding pressure, he feels the warmth in his belly drop out.  His hips lift slightly off the bed to meet each pump of his fist, sliding with lube and his own pre-release.  A moan, beginning in his belly in the absence of warmth, grinds out of him as he hears his mentor’s gravelly voice, “That’s right Eggsy, come for me.”

As he comes, breathing through his mouth in the wake of his moans, he sleepily plans how to ask the man to suck and lick at his ears, and it sends a stronger pulse through his abdomen, jetting his release further up into his chest.

Eggsy takes a few moments to breathe, his body cooling comfortably.  He reaches for the pillow on the other side of the bed, and pulls the case off to wipe himself down.  No way is he getting out of this bed now.  His legs flop down, dropping warmth back over him, and he kicks the pajamas the rest of the way off to be dealt with later.

And he drops off to sleep, excited to see his mentor later the next day.  He might not be up to conning the older man into bed, but he can file away a lot more wank material.  Of that, he’s sure.  Not to mention, he’s grown fond of Harry.  A smile fades away as he drops off into dreams of the future, dirty and less so.

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SO SORRY! I made myself sad, so I'm sorry if I made you so too! But it occured to me, after seeing the movie a second time, that Eggsy spends the night at Harry's and I just couldn't not think of these things!


End file.
